


de morte

by Kazroo



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 05:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3476063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazroo/pseuds/Kazroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early hours of the day of the dead, Lincoln has a troubling experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	de morte

Lincoln Burroughs was in his cell. Despite the fact that he was isolated, he could still hear the sounds of other prisoners through the duct work. There was the normal low rumble of voices, the hum of the air system, and even the dripping of condensation behind the walls. It made sleep come hard, if it came at all. The execution was closing in, and despite his faith in Michael’s escape plan, the nightmares persisted. The thought that it was Halloween sat in the back of his mind. The day of the dead – how apropos, he thought.

 

Lincoln brushed his hands over the close-cropped hair on his head, letting the texture tickle his palms, and send tingles down his spine. He missed having longer hair. When he was young, he had had glorious locks, and even well into his late twenties he had hair that actually brushed aside to his touch. Now it was just this institutional stubble on his head. It had no mercy. The shape of one’s head was on display, like it or not.

 

There was a clank of metal – the sound of one of the doors opening. Lincoln sat back, waiting for a guard to appear to take him wherever he was off to. He was checked on often these days. No way the prison staff wanted to explain a death on their death watch. No shoe laces, no belts, not even a box of dental floss was admitted to his cell. He closed his eyes for a moment, only opening them again when he heard his cell open.

 

“Hello?” he cautiously asked to the air.

 

“Bellick?”

 

“Who’s there?”

 

A force raised him to his feet, but still he could see no one.

 

“Hey, what’s going on?”

 

This still unseen force pushed him out of his cell, knocking him against the far wall with enough force to take his breath for a moment. He was poked, prodded and urged forward, unable to stop. Whatever this was just kept him moving forward. In horror, he realized he was being steadily advanced to the death chamber. He began fighting harder and harder to stop his own forward progress. It was too soon – this was not his time to die.

 

“Somebody help me,” he howled, scratching at the walls, floor.

 

He was thrown into the death chamber and the chair seemed to pull him in until he was seated. The arm straps tightened and buckled down, his legs were secured and a strap went around his chest. Salt water was swabbed on his chest and head to make the electrical contacts. He was going to die now; he was going to die alone. The only living relatives he had were not here. Michael was in his cell, and LJ was on the run, having been swallowed up by the same conspiracy that had landed Lincoln here. He was sure this was the end.

 

Suddenly, there was light filtering in from in front of him as the curtains were pulled back to reveal the observer’s room. There were several rows of chairs, like a luxury box at a stadium. It first it seemed empty, but as the harried Linc looked from seat to seat, he began to see faces. His father became clear first, then his mother. He gave a sad smile at seeing her again, but his eyes narrowed as his step father emerged. It had been a troubled relationship for all involved, and Michael had paid the biggest price. He was just a child. Lincoln was forced to grow up to take care of him, and Michael lost his place in the world, his sense of where and who he could depend was down to just this one man who hadn’t found his own path yet.

 

Lincoln’s heart ached thinking about how this had fostered Michael’s unwavering love for his brother, a love that brought Michael to this place. He was too good to put his genius to work this way, and now it was all for nothing. Lincoln was going to die, and no plan of Michael’s was going to save him now.

 

He looked away from his triumvirate of parents. On the other side was his ex wife, and the man in her death. They too had been sucked into this black hole that seemed to surround Lincoln Burroughs. They all stared at him.

 

“What do you want from me? Isn’t it enough that I’m going to be killed? Are you here to tear my soul apart as I pass to the other side?”

 

To his left, those who had left his son to fend for himself. To his right, those who had left him to fend himself and his brother.

 

Slowly, in the middle, one more face was coming out of the shadow of death.

 

“I know you. You have to tell them. You know I didn’t kill you!”

 

The man nodded.

 

“Help me!” Lincoln yelled, the veins of his temples about to explode as he strained against his restrains.

 

The man shook his head slowly side to side.

 

“I don’t know who you pissed off, but my whole family is on the verge of being wiped out! What was so damn important that we all have to die?”

 

The curtain began to close again, and Lincoln was surrounded by electrical currents. They came up from his ankles like angry snakes, coiling around him. He could feel the life about to drain from him.

 

“Nooooooo. Tell them! Tell them it’s not me! Nooooo!”

 

 

“So, the nightmares,” the doctor brought up the subject as she checked his blood pressure the next morning.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“They told me it took over five minutes to wake you, and the whole time you were yelling.”

 

“If you were days from execution, would you be sleeping soundly?”

 

Sara squeezed his wrist, showing her empathy. Michael popped into her mind. He was going to need help dealing with his brother’s death. She wished he wouldn’t shut down like he seemed to whenever her questions hit too close to home. The more she looked into his past, the more she had to question how he had fallen. There had to be more to this.

 

“You’re right. I wouldn’t be sleeping well at all. Would you like to talk about the dreams?”

 

“Trying to keep me mentally sound too, doc?”

 

“I’m all you’ve got right now.”

 

“It won’t help.”

 

“Must be a family trait. Your brother may not confront the way you do, but he’s got a good sidestep.”

 

She noticed him stiffen when she mentioned his brother. He looked away.

 

“OK, I’m all done here.”

 

“So I guess that means I’m fit to be killed.”

 

She gave a sad smile, gathered her gear, and headed back to the infirmary.

 

 

That was still the most haunting nightmare. It was still the day of the dead. Lincoln wondered. He had never given much stock to the idea that there was a thin veil between the living and the dead for this 24 hour period, but he had to admit, it had been vivid, and disturbing. And he felt the full weight of his life and his actions right now. So many steps of his own making had put him in a place where he was willing to kill. Maybe it didn’t matter that he hadn’t pulled the trigger. Maybe his intent alone condemned him.

 

~~~~~


End file.
